Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE VOICE OF TRUTH. (book iv, Of The Pastime.) "Truth is a stern preache, Sterner than dreums; and such a tale is hers As dreaming is nut made of." Page 15. "Hiec ego non iigitein 1" Juvenal. POEM. When daisies die, and sweet briars strow their leaves All sear'd by frost, and from the hazel copse, No longer, or but faintly, the clear note The black-bird shrills swells out, and through the woods, Eddying the few last autumn leaves, the wind Comes low and plaintive—from my dwelling's door, How sweet to seek the silence and the shade, And woo the spirit of the solitudes! Most soothing sweet it is, in these calm days— These hours, when Nature, like a widow'd bride, Puts on her mourning weeds; for all about us, Such lessons come and fall upon the heart, As will not be forgotten—which sink deep, And purify it, while they make it sad. These spreading fields, how lonely! Whither now, Have gone the hues they wore when June came on, And call'd the blue-bird from the southern sky 1 Whither the swelling buds—the flowers that prank'd With shapes grotesque, the sunny slope—the snow- drop, Just peeping upward from its tuft of leaves, In maiden modesty ?—Whither the primrose fair, Blushing and flaunting in the summer wind, As proud of its rich beauty ?—gone—all gone. And but a few pale stems, and wither'd leaves, To say they once have been. 'Tis silence all!— As if the wing of death had swept the scene; Seal'd up the thousand avenues of life In tree and shrub, and left them all to die. The groves are voiceless. Stripp'd of most their tresses, Their tall arms pierce up in the smoky sky— How silently. Yet some few leaves are left, That, soft detach'd by the low rising wind, Drop from their slender twigs, and sift along The forest ski... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.